


Arsonist's Lullaby

by JadeyKins



Series: Arsonist's Lullaby [1]
Category: Constantine (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, I use Hellblazer for info when the shows have gaps, Mental Hospital, Mental Instability, Ravenscar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-22 06:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeyKins/pseuds/JadeyKins
Summary: Sara has been having nightmares of Mallus. When she's up with too little sleep again, Nate suggests they go find their favorite exorcist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The narrative concerning the intersection of magic and mental health often takes the troubling note of "you're not crazy, you just need to embrace the supernatural." In the Legends episode "Daddy Darhkest," Zari adds to that narrative by telling Nora that the hospital she was at couldn't help her. While Zari also conveys that she spent time in a mental hospital (and gives the idea that's how she knows they're not any good), I don't know her history well enough to write a fic about her mental wellness--and given the show's context, her narrative wouldn't give me the angle I wanted to write.
> 
> See, you can have magic AND still need a mental hospital.
> 
> That's where John Constantine comes in. In the Hellblazer comics, he has a long history of depression and arguably PTSD. So I cooked up this story of how John rejoins the Waverider crew on a longer term basis and let him be his less than stellar self. If there's interest, I'll continue past the initial three chapters and into a full adventure.

Sara clanked the spoon around her mug a couple more times before dropping it into the sink. The heat of the mug wasn’t enough to shake off the chill of the latest nightmare, but it was a start. She made her way to the bridge, taking her time since she had plenty of it. A logical person would’ve tried getting some more sleep.

But then a logical person didn’t close their eyes and walk into a spirit dimension.

The bridge was at full illumination. Catching an AI system off-guard was pretty hard when she could track movements through her ship, but Sara usually caught the lights turning on as she walked into a room. She’d programmed Gideon that way. A silent little signal of ‘is this room occupied before I get there?’ Something Sara needed to know to coax her assassin instincts into a lull.

Since the lights were on before the door slid open, someone else was here. Adrenaline kicked up and Sara no longer needed the coffee to rouse her mind the rest of the way. She took a peek around the corner—never knew when someone would finally hack Gideon and appear on her bridge without invitation—but it was only Nate rummaging through historical records.

“Hey, Sara. Sorry. Do you need this?” Nate waved at the main console.

“Thought this was why you had your own room,” Sara said as she took a seat on the stairs leading to Rip’s old room. The captain’s office. _Her_ office.

“I love my room. I do. And the library. But, I mean, I didn’t hardly leave the ship the last couple of missions and I’m going a little stir-crazy here.”

He hadn’t been in the field because he was either a risk or too caught up in Amaya’s affairs to pay attention to the mission. Sara sipped on her coffee. Maybe now was the perfect time for a midnight talk, except what did a leader say in this kind of situation? She hadn’t exactly had the best examples. Her dad would’ve sat Nate down and tried to talk him through whatever was going on—but Nate wasn’t a kid and she wasn’t his mother and any kind of talk like that hadn’t worked so far. Rip did less talking than she did. Ra’z Al Ghoul would’ve tossed Nate from Nanda Parbat in a heartbeat. And the couple of bosses she’d had at regular jobs just wouldn’t have given a crap.

“Understandable,” Sara said in the end, because it was all she had. After all, weeks at a time on a ship was bound to get to anyone—even if they did grow up more housebound than most due to their hemophilia.

“What’re you still doing up?” Nate asked.

“Try again. Most of us have gone to bed.”

Nate stopped and checked his watch. “Oh. _Oh_. So I guess the question is why’re you awake so early?”

Not wanting Nate to probe her about the nightmare’s details, Sara said, “Why don’t you tell me about your project?”

“I’ve been trying to research what Zari and Constantine meant by ‘the Six.’ Now, we posited that it’s earth, fire, air, water, and animal. Very Captain Planet of us.”

“I almost forgot about that cartoon.”

“Right, well, those five elements come together and create Captain Planet, but what if it’s different but the same? Mallus is trying to break into our world and take it over. What if the Six combine to create a protector or something?”

“So, like, Captain Reality,” Sara said.

Nate pointed at her, grinning and chuckling. “Exactly! Great name. Captain Reality. Well, what else besides those five elements could you need to make a Captain Reality? I’ve been looking and trying to analyze, but it’s kind of hard to come up with what imposes reality. I mean, are we looking for something for time? Space? We’ve got animal spirit, but maybe there’s a plant spirit.”

“Oh, there is, and you do _not_ want to piss him off,” Sara said.

Nate stopped and scowled. “What?”

“Look up the Swamp Thing sometime.”

“Like the movie?”

“Like the legend.” Sara bit back a yawn, but it grew massive. She hid as much as she could behind her hand.

Nate stared at her anyway, in that way where he was trying to be subtle. Only Nate was about as subtle as Oliver Queen during his party days, which was to say not at all. “You know, captain, you haven’t gotten a lot of sleep since that thing with Nora Darhk.”

That ‘thing’ with Nora had been letting the demon Mallus into Sara’s body long enough to use his knowledge and power to cast a rune to bring her, Leo, and Constantine back from 1969. It’d been a couple of weeks and Nate was right. She hadn’t slept the same since. Or much at all.

“I’ll be fine,” Sara insisted.

“If you don’t mind my asking, is there anyway I can help?”

“Not unless you can conjure up Captain Reality for my head.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but Nate took the information to heart and finally stopped fiddling with the computer to turn towards her. “You’ve been seeing Mallus in your head? Voices?”

“Just when I sleep. Probably just a nightmare.”

“Probably _not_. I’m not a mystical expert, but I’ve been trying to read up since Amaya rejoined the crew. There’s several cultures that believe we’re the most vulnerable to the spirit world when we sleep. It’s in the hunting patterns of incubi and succubi and dozens of other creatures.”

Yeah, that’s what Sara had thought of too, and why she preferred staying awake to letting the demon have another shot at her so soon.

Nate snapped his fingers. “You know who _is_ a magical expert? Even says so on his card?”

“No. No, we are not bothering him.”

Nate put his hands on his hips and stared at her. He had every intent of pestering her until she relented and gave permission. At least he wouldn’t overrule her. But he cocked his head to the side and gave an impatient huff when she just kept staring back at him.

“He walked away from us,” Sara said. “And he’s the kind of guy who will get in contact with us when he knows something.”

“It can’t hurt to ask him a few questions. See if he’s getting anywhere.”

“We don’t know what he’s in the middle of. It could be a really bad time.”

“It’s a _time_ ship.” Nate scowled at her. “Or is this because you don’t want to admit you have a problem?”

So not a conversation she was going to have with Nate. Sara stood up. “Fine. Fine, we’ll go see him. Gideon, can you track down John Constantine? March, 2018.”

“According to my records, Constantine is in Ravenscar during that time frame,” Gideon said.

“Great. Pilot us a course.”

“Ravenscar,” Nate repeated slowly. “I’ve never heard of it. Where’s that at Gideon?”

“England.”

“Cool. I love visiting the Brits.”

 

*******

 

Ravenscar was an old building. Somehow the gray clouds blocking out a bulk of the sunlight seemed to both lend the place a dilapidated air and suit it perfectly. The great wrought-iron gate at the front bore the name, but it was the plaque on the stone fencepost that announced the place’s purpose.

Ravenscar. Sanatorium.

Well, at least Sara had managed to convince most of the group to stay behind on this little expedition. Wasn’t too hard. Mick only drank, Zari and Amaya were working on their abilities to control their totems, and Ray was busy with his anti-magic gun. Nate was impossible to shake, even when he realized Gideon meant a single address instead of a village. He’d been sure they were going to find a castle or something.

This place definitely fell into the _or something_.

Sara shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and headed for the main doors. The walk up the driveway was long and the wind tended to wipe through her coat. She had been colder than this.

Nate practically buzzed at her side, a constant chatter spewing from his lips as they walked. Sara paid attention to about half the words, tuning in again when it became obvious he was going to want some kind of feedback on what he was saying.

“Do you think this has anything to do with what happened in Star City?”

“Hard to say,” Sara said.

“Right. I mean, the guy deals with Lovecraftian nightmares all the time. Oh crap, you don’t think one of them like stole his mind or something?”

Sara had snuck a peek at John’s record while they were on their way to England. He’d checked himself into Ravenscar two other times so far. “I doubt it.”

“Then what’s he doing here?”

“Probably getting help,” Sara said, her exhaustion and frustration bringing her sarcasm out.

Nate, wisely, shut up.

They stepped through the main doors. The foyer was grand, making Sara think this must have been a castle in a former lifetime, and they continued through to the end of the hall to a reception desk. The nurse sitting behind it glanced up from her crossword puzzle. “Hello there. Who are you here to see?”

“A patient of yours. John Constantine,” Sara said.

The nurse’s eyes went wide. “Mr. Constantine?”

“Is there a problem?” Nate asked.

“No. He’s never gotten one before is all. I’ll have to check and see if you can be admitted. To visit him that is, not to the hospital.” The nurse stood from her chair, then came back and typed on the computer. “Normally he doesn’t want to see anyone, but then normally no one comes asking.”

“He’s not—I mean, he’s—” Nate stammered. When both the nurse and Sara turned towards him, Nate finished. “I mean, how was Constantine admitted? To the hospital.”

The nurse blinked a few more times. Sara put on her best “let me get away with my con” smile. “Forgive my cousin. He’s curious about John, and well, since we were in the neighborhood, I thought I’d make the introduction.”

“Oh, well, then,” the nurse said, barely mollified. “I’m not seeing anything on his record to say no. Give me a tic to go see how he’s doing today. Who should I tell him is here?”

Sara would be able to use one of her aliases to hide her presence, but John didn’t know those names. “Tell him a canary’s stopped by.”

The nurse frowned a little, but nodded and walked away.

Nate leaned in closer to Sara’s side. “You don’t think it matters how he was checked in here? What if he’s dangerous?”

“He’s Constantine, he’s always dangerous,” Sara teased.

Nate gave her a flat glare.

Sara sighed. “I don’t need her to tell me because I’ve already looked into it. He checked himself in, Nate. He’s here of his own freewill.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sara followed the nurse down the hall. She’d had to leave her coat, purse, and earrings behind. She technically should have dumped her hidden throwing knives into the coat check too, but that would’ve meant admitting she walked everywhere armed to the teeth. If someone managed to take one off of her, she’d deal with the consequences—and she’d do a double-check in the driveway to make sure no one had.

John sat at one of the tables in the darkest corner of the room. The whole place had an ancient lighting system, but in here the lights were even dimmer than the hallways. Judging from how the other patients in the room were also turning away from the lights, Sara figured it had to be intentional. Some people recuperated better with fewer stimulus. Apparently John was one of them.

Sara grabbed Nate’s arm. She whispered, “This is a bad idea.”

Nate pursed his lips and thrust a hand out in John’s direction. “He’s seen us. We might as well.”

“He’s got a point, love,” John said loudly. One patient clapped her hands over her ears. John rolled his eyes and stood, crossing the room towards them. Without his trench coat, he seemed smaller. Which was weird for Sara since she’d seen him naked.

Maybe it had more to do with the plain white clothing and shoes he wore. Maybe it was that his bravado attitude was as absent as his trench coat.

Maybe she was putting way too much thought into it.

“What’s it like outside?” John said.

“Dismal,” Nate replied.

“Ah, so proper English spring. Let’s take a stroll. And tell me you brought some cigarettes. Bastards confiscated mine.”

Sara smirked at Nate. “I told you we’d need them.”

Nate dug around in his pocket and pulled the packet and lighter out. “I don’t see why I had to carry them.”

“Ladies’ pants still don’t have pockets,” Sara said.

“Oh, as if you haven’t stashed a half dozen—”

“Don’t finish that.” Sara didn’t need anyone else in the room knowing she was armed. “And maybe that’s why I don’t have space for cigarettes.”

“Whatever the case,” John said as he grabbed the pack and lighter from Nate, “let’s take a walk before I get yelled at.”

 

*******

 

John managed to convince the nurse with a few nice words that, yes, he was totally allowed to wear his trench coat out on the grounds on a day like this. Bugger if it was true or not. Sure, the thing had a belt he kept tied off in the back and someone could find a thousand ways to murder themselves with it, but he was with an assassin of the League and, well, if rumors be true, a man of freaking _steel_. Nate had normal enough skin at the moment, but it’d change. No one was likely to go robbing him of his coat with these two, much less with his own capabilities.

He’d gotten a few puffs in on the cigarette and led them down one of the great round boring paths through the grounds. Further into springtime, there’d be caches of crap flowers. Right now, everything was gray and glum. Like how he felt. Bland, gray, and wrong on the inside. That nagging voice at the back of his head—the one that ran the constant reminders of his mistakes—was bleating its warnings already. That Sara was in a jam because he’d failed her. That Sara wasn’t Sara at all, but Mallus come to take out a potential adversary before John could mount a defense.

“All right, what brings you two to my wretched door?” John asked.

“We don’t mean to be a nuisance,” Nate said. “But you’re the only one we know with extensive knowledge in this field.”

“You telling me Oliver went up against Damien Darhk and didn’t ask for more reliable help?” John said. “Hell, gave him the name of a bird myself.”

“You already know the case,” Sara said.

“Aye. And as I recall, I already gave my advice.”

“There’s been a development.”

Words that made John’s blood run cold. He stopped on the path. They were a good distance from the building and no one else was out in the yard on such a craptastic day. John probably could’ve made it over the back fence, if he was so inclined to run. He took a long drag on his cig, careful to blow the smoke downwind for a change.

“What’s the development?” he asked.

“Sara’s been having nightmares,” Nate said.

Sara scowled at Nate. Obviously she didn’t fancy him speaking for her. She took in a deep breath before turning back towards John. “When I close my eyes, I’m back in the spirit world and Mallus is right there.”

She’d made to sound like it was no big deal. It was a _very_ big deal. Something John had been afraid of. “You seeing anything while you’re awake? Accidentally crossing over between steps?”

“Nothing like that.”

“But we haven’t exactly been off the ship,” Nate said. “Could time be keeping Mallus at bay somehow?”

“Naw, or he wouldn’t be able to get at her head while she’s in dreams.” John flicked off some ash from the end of his cigarette, took another drag. Shame they’d ruled out nicotine inside the facility. Maybe he could get Sara to leave him a carton at the door when she left.

As if she’d support his habit.

As if the carton would last the rest of the time he meant to be here.

As if he wasn’t going to wind up walking out the door right behind her.

“—Because that’s what dreams are. A link to the subconscious and the spirit,” Nate was saying.

“Aye, squire,” John said. Easy to bullshit attention when the other guy was doing nothing but spouting useless, novice-level crap. “Any created personal defenses get dropped when we sleep. Sometimes the spirit likes to take a walkabout as well.”

“What do we do about it?” Sara asked.

“Well, we could go ask the King of Dreams if he’d give you a bit more protection on that front, but the Dreaming’s kind of more his thing,” John replied.

“Wait, all of that’s _real_?” Nate said.

Okay, he could like the eager chap. John chuckled. “There’s far more to—”

“Heaven and Hell than dreamt of in your philosophy. Shakespeare.”

“I was going to say ‘magic than you know,’ but I suppose that works.”

“Well, do we need to go ask this King of Dreams to help me?” Sara said.

John dropped the cigarette, putting it out with a habitual grind of his foot. “We’re a bit under his radar. And if Mallus can suck you in while dreaming, who’s to say what he’d tried to do to the King? I’d rather not wind up giving him a nuclear power source when he’s doing so well on coal, catch my drift?”

“If we’re not going to speak to him, then what are we going to do?”

John raced through his list of contacts. Spirits and demons were tricky things and not many knew what to do with them, at least not in a positive manner. Papa Midnite’s price would be steep, if he was even in a giving mood—and best not to put a formally dead girl in front of that bastard. Then there was Madame Xanadu, but her powers lied to seeing the future. All they’d get would be a bleeding forecast. Not terribly useful for prevention of the storm. Zatanna deserved some peace and quiet, and John wasn’t about to put _that_ tasty talent in Mallus’s path.

Naw, there was one wanker that had to live with a demon who might have some insight for them. John tugged another cigarette out of the pack with his lips and stashed the rest in his trench coat. He could send them on their way, but if his source didn’t pan out—and there was a fair chance he wouldn’t—then they would be right back here. John itched to leave.

Not that he should. He needed to stay a while longer. See if the therapy did the trick this time and let him put some of his own demons to rest. Getting a prescription filled was one of the last things he wanted to do. He had a habit of taking too many of the things at once.

He needed to stay and get help.

But that would mean giving the demon a real chance at Sara Lance’s soul. A soul he’d put his own life at risk to save once already. That should’ve been enough, but a twisted part of John liked to believe that if she was out there saving lives it counted in good measure on his soul. Because she was only doing it cause of him.

“I need to talk to your captain a second,” John said to Nate. “Do us a favor and tell the wench at admissions we’ll be needing my discharge papers.”

“You don’t have to come,” Sara said.

“And when you wind up nowhere without me, you’ll want me there,” John said. “Besides, people in my line of business tend to be the paranoid sort. They prefer introductions.”

Nate glanced at Sara and she nodded at the building. “I’ll go get started.”

Once Nate was out of earshot, Sara turned back to John again. “You really don’t have to come.”

“Bit selfish of me not to. Leaving the potentially possessed girl without her exorcist.”

“You wanted to talk to me,” Sara said.

“I need to be on my meds a while longer.”

“We can pick up prescriptions—wait, you need someone to monitor them for you.”

God, hearing it out loud twisted in his gut. He fumbled with lighting the cigarette and shoved his hands into his trench coat pockets to ignore the shaking. At least he hadn’t needed to say it himself. “Aye.”

“We can set something up, but I’ve got to ask,” Sara said. “Are you suicidal?”

“Does smoking and drinking to excess count?” John joked. The thin smile on his lips was coming off false. He could tell from the way she stood straighter and fixed him with that determined stare.

“Actually—”

“I’ve no intent to put myself to harm.” And fuck’s sake, he couldn’t bear a lecture on the subject. And it was the truth. Mostly, seeing as how he’d checked himself into Ravenscar to prevent the complete fall into that dark rabbit hole. “I’ve got too many demons with too many bits of my soul to let myself die any time in the near future. And—for the record—getting myself outside of time on your ship wouldn’t count as getting me away from their clutches. Mallus is proof enough of that.”

“All right,” Sara said. But she had a watchful eye. No doubt she or her computer would be keeping tabs on him. Or both. Bullocks.

But he needed it too. Knowing there would be a guiding hand—even if it was man-made or possessed by a demon—helped ease the thick knot of tension in his stomach. Not so much that it was gone, but enough that he could get his feet moving again.

“Mind, I don’t want you blabbing it to the others,” John said. “Last thing I need is them acting like I’m not capable. I am.”

“I won’t say a word. And I’ll try to keep Nate from running his mouth about where we picked you up from.”

“Right then.” John had one more drag of his smoke before dropping it to join the other on the ground. “Let’s go talk to an old pal.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gotham City reeked. More grays and blacks than the whole of England’s Industrial Revolution coated the once glorious city. John had seen that version of the younger metropolis, back centuries before—in a vision. Or maybe that’d been the drugs he’d taken.

Nevertheless, walking the streets in his normal attire made him feel more like himself. Having a merry band trailing behind him also increased his ego. Always the threat. Any time he felt too good about himself, he wound up with his back against the wall and a friend sacrificed for the greater good.

This was about _saving_ Sara Lance, not damning her soul to Mallus. He needed to do this for her. Maybe he’d save himself in the process, but he doubted it. The red in his ledger was a pool of blood, made of his best friends and lovers. And with a ledger that shade, never hurt to put a Canary squarely in one’s back pocket for a rainy day. A cruel thought, but John hadn’t survived this long without planning for the long term. His conscience tried to wage its futile war once more. Schemes, plans, hating himself. It rolled around his head. The hating himself part grew extra strong on every step.

Damn Gideon for only giving him a proper dosage. He still had too much mind to think. But then, that’s what he needed because offending anyone in this town could wind up getting his throat slit. Gotham was not for those who tripped on themselves or couldn’t think their way through a mess. John stamped out his cigarette in the gutter and made his way up the steps to the front door of the impressive mansion. Sara, Nate, and Ray were along behind him.

He may have told Ray to bring that anti-magic gun for a test drive. Not that he planned on having a problem. But rarely did anything go according to his first plan. Contingencies upon contingencies. He rapped on the door.

Jason Blood opened his door wide enough that John got a good view of his shocked face and then he went to shut it.

Typical. John slammed his shoulder into the doorframe, which bloody hurt as the door came back down on him. He wasn’t going to win this fight, but he only needed a moment. “Calm down, Jason. Just here for a chat.”

“Nothing with you is ever ‘just a chat,’” Jason growled. “Out of my door Constantine.”

“Not for my sake. Need you for the bird. Ever heard of Mallus?”

John knew he had. After all, John had heard the name somewhere. Jason had heard it too, at a card table that he hated sitting at.

Jason glared at him and then past him. “I’m not joining any battle of yours.”

“Like I said. Chat. Now stow your bloody contempt of me and let us in.”

Jason sighed, pressed his lips together, and then opened the door. He waved his hand out towards his living room. “If you four will join me in there.”

“Sorry for intruding,” Sara said. “John said you were an expert in demons.”

“That is a severe understatement.” Jason glared at John.

Which John did his best to ignore. After all, did anyone think their disapproval had that much of an effect on him anymore? He sat down on the couch and resisted the urge to light up a smoke. He needed Jason in a better mood before he got accused of defiling his home.

“You didn’t tell them?” Jason said.

“Wasn’t going to spoil your story, mate,” John said.

“Story?” Ray asked as he took a seat near John. That one had been keen to be around him since John rejoined the _Waverider_ ’s crew. A little too keen. “I love a good story. Does it involve magic?”

“Well, _probably_ Ray,” Nate said. “Kind of the whole point of being here.”

“I take it you have a demon problem,” Jason said. “That isn’t much information to go on.”

Jason was loving the attention now, cheeky bastard. He was strutting over to that magnificent fireplace with all the pomp and circumstance of a tenured professor. 

Sara chose to stand near the door. She’d been more on edge than she’d willingly admit, but John saw the signs in her. Too much tension. Too big of bags under her eyes. Too _afraid_. Just making her riper for the demon. She gave Jason a short rundown on what had happened with Mallus, the spirit world, and the possession. Drawing on his power to get them out of trouble.

Jason turned, nostrils flaring, towards John. “You _suggested_ this course of action?”

“I did,” Sara snapped. “We had to do something and getting messages through time isn’t easy when you’re caught off-guard.”

“But to invite a demon into you—”

“You’re one to talk there, mate,” John snapped.

“I did no such thing.”

“Aye, but you’re living with Etrigan all the same. So maybe you can climb off the high horse and help the girl out with hers.”

Stunned silence. A common enough thing in John’s line of work. Nate snapped out of his stupor first, excitedly shaking his finger at Jason. “You’re Jason-of-the-blood!”

 _Shit_. John stood, rising quickly to put himself between Jason and Nate before the ancient immortal would try to smite Nate in a fit of rage. Surprisingly, Jason wasn’t doing much more than glaring sternly in Nate’s direction. Perhaps John overestimated the call of old words—or maybe Jason planned on flaying Nate later instead.

Nate blathered on. “I’ve read a whole slew of stories and lore about Merlin—”

“I thought I read everything about Camelot,” Ray said.

“Maybe everything in popular culture. Have you gone digging through 6th century texts?” Nate asked.

“Well, no. Have you? When do you have all the time for this?”

“Boys,” Sara said. “I’d like to get to the point of being here. Dish about Merlin later.”

“They’re quite right to bring him up,” Jason said, a little too evenly for John’s liking. “Merlin bound a demon to my soul. Our relationship has a habit of being one-sided, but we have had to find more harmony lately.”

“Meaning you’re connected to a demon right now,” Sara said.

“Yes. And I would advise that letting one into your body is _not_ conducive for your immortal soul.”

“And, for the record, I tried telling her not to,” John said.

“But when it came down to it, you allowed her to do so,” Jason said. “Like any other ally, you may not have pushed her into the fire, but you gave her the lighter and gasoline!”

“Wasn’t any other way.”

“How many times will you use that excuse?”

“We were trying to save a little girl!”

Jason scoffed. “Trying? So you failed at that as well.”

Another silence, this one choking John. Running this low on energy, on willpower, he had no snappy comebacks. Only a physical drain on his body and the desire to climb into a bottle of gin. “Piss off, Jason. If we’re counting dead bodies at our feet, I may have a few at mine, but you’ve got bloody Everest beneath you.”

“Get out of my home,” Jason roared.

“Gladly! You spineless tosser!”

John stormed out, halfway down the street before someone grabbed his arm. He spun, angry, and there was Sara. He expected a fight. More angry words and bitter resentment. More disapproval for his former—though mysterious to her—actions. More questions about his judgment.

Sara’s face was tense, but that was concern in her eyes. Ah _hellfire_ , he’d convinced another poor soul he was a decent man. “Are you okay?”

That being the first question took the wind out of his sails. He deflated, rooting around for the cigarettes. “Jason’s always been a self-righteous wanker. I figured he was a long shot, but a decent place to start. Sorry to have wasted precious time. I don’t have answers for you.”

“Look, I can’t live with Mallus. If there’s anything Jason just showed me, it’s that having a demon in your head in the long term isn’t going to work. We have to find a way to beat him. Now, that’s probably got to do with the Six. And we still have to figure that out. I need help in the short term. It isn’t going to do us any good if I can’t get any sleep or if Mallus somehow uses me to figure out our plans. Maybe there’s a spell or something you can do.”

“Mallus is stronger than me.” So much of the damn world was.

“Then maybe we need to find a way to combine magic and technology. Maybe there’s something you and Ray can do if you work together.”

Blending magic and technology seemed an impossible task. But then, Sara did have command of a futuristic time ship. Some might call that magic. 

“That’ll put me on your ship for who knows how long,” John said. “Not sure that’s a thing you want.”

“What I want is to beat this demon before he winds up powering Damien Darhk back into immortality or shredding through our reality. Can you help me with that or not?”

A question fairly asked. John nodded, wheels already turning on how to work this to his advantage. A time ship. All of reality to go and play in, if he worked the cards right. People who trusted him to lead them around magic. And John had a few demons of his own on his back. Figuring out a way around Mallus might help in that. Damn, thoughts like that gave him the shakes, but he needed to project the image of the broken man. Never mind he was actually cracked at the bleeding seams. He’d use that too.

“Aye,” John said slowly. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Great. Welcome to the crew.”

Sara really should’ve left him to rot in Ravenscar. Her soul might stand a chance then, because with John around, they were all certainly damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been here the couple of weeks since I posted chapter 1, you'll see a shift today. Suddenly this work is part of a series by the same name, muwhahaha.
> 
> This was basically the story of how John rejoined the crew. His mental health will continue to be a struggle in subsequent stories--it's not a one and done deal. To pull a page from Lemony Snicket, if you're looking for a story where everything is happy and everything works out completely fine, look elsewhere. For these will be tales of struggle and honestly, I can not promise that everyone will always wind up happy at the end.


End file.
